


My Favorite Thing

by DylanCruca



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jeller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-30 10:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10874460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DylanCruca/pseuds/DylanCruca
Summary: 2 shot followup to 2x20. Kurt checks on Jane after the fight with Roman.





	1. Chapter 1

A/N-This is a 2-shot. I was hoping to post both parts before the new episode, but I'm clearly not going to make it. This picks up at the end of 2x20 and can stand on its own. The rating is for Chapter 2.

I don't own these characters, but I do enjoy playing with other people's toys.

**Chapter 1**

Kurt had decided to return to work. His apartment was too quiet and empty for him at the time. The silence made his doubts and worries so much clearer. The noise of his office didn't seem to help much. Seemingly out of the blue, Sarah called, and although they only spoke for a few minutes, it was long enough to allow a realization to dawn. He grabbed his phone and called Jane, listening disappointedly when her voicemail picked up. He left a quick message, telling her that they needed to talk and he didn't care how late it was when she called.

He'd sort of expected her to answer or call back, and he couldn't help but continue to allow his eyes to fall on his cell phone screen to await her response. Finally, he decided to swing by the safehouse, remembering other times when he'd left a message and should have been more concerned by the fact that she didn't answer.

As he raised his hand to knock, something seemed strange. One of the blinds was knocked down, and he immediately wondered what sort of altercation could cause that to occur. His cell phone rang and he saw Zapata's name and quietly answered. "We may have a situation over at Jane's."

"Yea, well, I couldn't sleep and I came in to use the gym and I saw Roman. He had his detail bring him back to his cell," Zapata answered.

"What? Why?"

"I'm not sure, but he's pretty banged up."

"Jane wasn't with him?" Weller asked, his worry clear in his tone.

"Nope. You want me to talk to him? See what happened?"

"Yea. Something's not right here. I need to get inside."

"You want backup?" Zapata offered.

"No. You keep an eye on Roman. I'll find Jane."

Kurt quietly tested the knob and found the door unlocked. Unholstering his gun, he peered through the slivered opening of the door, and his concern flared at what he saw. The safehouse was in ruin, lamps and tables overturned or broken. Splotches of blood scattered across the floor made him enter more hurriedly, and then he saw Jane standing by the sink.

Her clothes were stained with various shades from sweat and blood. She almost immediately noticed the intrusion and turned. The moment she saw Kurt, her forehead wrinkled with sadness. "I'm so sorry, Kurt," she mournfully replied. "I couldn't do it."

"Do what?" he asked, scanning the surroundings in case someone else was still lurking.

"Roman. H-he found out that I erased his memory. We fought. I had my gun on him, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't shoot my brother."

"Anyone else here?" Kurt asked.

"No."

He locked the door and holstered his gun. "Are you alright?"

"I need to find him," she responded, avoiding the question. "He's upset. Angry."

"He went back to his cell under his own power," Kurt explained.

"He did?" Jane asked with a combination of confusion and relief.

"Yea. Looks like he didn't take the news too well," Kurt stated calmly as he scanned the room while approaching her. He saw she was applying pressure to her hand and blood had soaked through the towels. "Let's go to the office. I'll take you to see the medic and they can stitch that up."

"It's okay," she replied distantly.

He began to fold another towel to replace the soaked ones she held and answered, "It's _not_ okay. You're _not_ okay."

"Of course I'm not okay," she countered loudly, a revealing quiver in her voice. "I've ruined everything. The harder I try, the worse I make it. I just wanted him to have the same chance I had. I wanted to be able to see him. And since I won't go back to Sandstorm…"

"I know," Kurt answered quietly. "You wanted to give him a second chance. You wanted to have your brother in your life, give him the opportunity to redeem himself. Jane…I never should have expected you to choose between me and your brother."

"Kurt—"

"No, please. Let me finish. Emma…was like family. She was the only one who really understood how I felt. About Taylor. About the loneliness. About my father. Her death…it was like losing a mother and a friend. I _am_ angry that Roman killed her. That hasn't changed. And I am _really_ hurt that you didn't tell me the truth. But you were put in an impossible situation. You should never have to choose between someone you work with and your own brother. Especially when you've already lost so much."

"You aren't just someone I work with," she argued. "I can't tell you how many times I wanted to tell you what happened. But I knew that it would hurt both of you. I didn't want to hurt you, ever! You and Roman…you're the two people I'm closest to. The people I care about the most. It doesn't excuse it. And I accept that I'll never have your trust again—"

"Sarah called," he interrupted. "I know what family means. How important it is. It was hard for me to think about that because I was so angry about Emma."

"I know. I know how important she was to you."

"It's more than that," he said, his tear-rimmed eyes staring into hers. "What I said during the polygraph…about you tearing down my walls…I was serious. It means that I feel things… _really_ feel things…in a way that I haven't for a long time, maybe ever. I do feel betrayed. I wish you could have trusted me. But I get why you didn't. And Roman…I don't know what I'm going to do about him. But when it comes to you…well, I'm not willing to let you go. To give up on you."

"You have no idea just how much you mean to me. I am so sorry. I don't even know how to express just how sorry I am."

"Me too," he replied. "Jane, I…" he started, his jaw clenching and brows furrowing as he struggled with his thoughts. "I've kept myself boarded up since…well since Taylor disappeared. I don't think I really felt much of anything all those years, apart from anger, the drive for justice. With you it's just…I feel again. And a lot of it hurts—"

"I'm sorry," she interrupted.

"You don't understand. I'm thanking you, Jane. Because, yea, some of it hurts…but it hasn't been all bad. I'm alive in a way I didn't think I could be anymore. And I meant it when I said that one of my favorite things about you is the way you try to see the best in everyone. That's what you did with your brother. I guess there are good and bad things about that. Since I wouldn't ever want you to change that about yourself, I have to accept everything that comes with it. God, your hand," he suddenly said. "We need to get that stitched."

"I can do it," she said, looking down at her wound.

"Come on," he insisted. "We should talk later. I'll drive you."

He placed the fresh towel over her wound and tied it securely with the long sleeve of a shirt she'd discarded on the floor earlier. His fingers gently stroked hers where they jutted out from the makeshift bandage. The tiny touch was comforting and tender, and he pressed his opened hand against her back and encouraged her toward the door.

* * *

Kurt wanted to check on Roman while Jane visited the medic. It terrified her that the two men were meeting, and she already feared the fallout. Noticing her distractedness, the doctor asked, "Are you experiencing any lightheadedness or nausea? You've probably lost a lot of blood."

"No," she answered quietly. "I was just thinking."

Jane bobbed her head in gratitude as an assistant brought her a drink, and waited as patiently as she could. But the moment the doctor was finished, Jane grabbed her jacket and rushed to Roman's cell. She heard Kurt and Roman talking as they faced each other through the glass. As she approached without the men noticing, she could hear Kurt say, "…but I'm not sure if I can ever forgive you for what you did to Emma."

"I know, and I am sorry," Roman quietly answered. "I'm really not sure if I can ever forgive Jane for what she did to me."

Weller folded his arms and shook his head, "Do you have any idea what would have happened to you if she wouldn't have done what she did? Chances are really good that you'd be dead or locked up in some hole a hell of a lot worse than this. She tried to give you another chance. Not just a better cell, but a better _life_. She tried to give you a chance at redemption! Face it, the _Roman_ who existed before ZIP…was the kind of man who could kill a woman like Emma Shaw, a woman who tried so damn hard to do what was right, and she was put through a hell that no one should ever have to live through. Is that really who you want to be? Or do you want to be a man who tries to make the world just a little safer, takes criminals off the streets and protects people like Emma Shaw instead of killing them?"

"I don't…I don't know who I am or what I want anymore," Roman replied. "It seems kind of hypocritical. You want me to forgive what she did to me, but I doubt you're ever going to forgive her for lying to you about it."

"You're wrong," Weller firmly answered. "Because I already have forgiven her. I don't like how she chose to handle it, I really don't. But she was _trying_ to do the right thing. With you. With me. She was trying to protect us both. Your sister did what she did to you out of love. No matter what you've done, all she sees when she looks at you is her little brother."

"She stole my memories," Roman argued more weakly.

"Yea. She did. I was trying to figure out what I'd do, in her position, and it's not so black-and-white. And it's hard to say it was the wrong thing…because when you found out what happened, you didn't go running back to Shepherd or Sandstorm. You _chose_ to come back here. To return to your cell instead of trying to kill her or me or anyone else. That was the right thing to do, and you _chose_ to do that when it would have been so easy to go back to your old ways. At least it's a glimmer of hope…that maybe you really _have_ changed."

Jane stepped closer and Roman immediately saw her, his eyes focusing on his sister as Kurt glanced over his shoulder and saw her before he shyly looked back down at the ground. She began, "Roman, I am sorry, but—"

"You're the one person who I really trusted," Roman said, his expression more sad than angry.

"I know. But I hope we can get past this. I hope you can forgive me, some day."

"I need time," Roman said.

"Alright," Jane acquiesced. "Can I come back tomorrow?"

Roman thought for a moment, pursing his lips as he pondered, and then he nodded, "Yea. Come back tomorrow."

Kurt carefully directed Jane toward the door before he came back to Roman's cell and stared him down, "One more thing. Don't hurt your sister again. That's the wrong way to get on my good side. You go after her with a knife or anything else…you'll regret it."

Jane heard his quick stride as Kurt hurried to catch up while she waited for the elevator. As they stepped on, she asked, "Did you mean that?"

"Mean what?" he asked, directing all of his attention to her.

"Everything you said back there. And…that you've already forgiven me?"

He nodded quickly, "I'm still hurt. But you were put in an impossible situation. I know you were trying to do the right thing. I just…I hope someday you will trust me… _really_ trust me."

"I do," she ardently replied, "more than anyone. I'm so sorry I've hurt you. I hate the pain I saw in your eyes. The pain I caused."

"Hey," he said, waiting until she finally looked up at him to continue, "You didn't kill Emma. I was so shocked and it hurt so bad, but _you_ didn't kill her."

"But I've done some horrible things."

"I don't mean to sound insensitive, but I don't care. I don't care about the bad things that _Remi_ did…that's not you. But I care a hell of a lot about _Jane,_ and the great things that she has done. And let's not forget that I've made a mistake before…or maybe two…" he teased.

She nervously chuckled, feeling both relieved and overwhelmed, but then both of those feelings were superseded by intense surprise and a jolt of electricity that she wasn't prepared for as his warm palm covered her cool cheek, his thumb carefully brushing for a moment before he brought their lips together. He stopped after that fleeting kiss and whispered, "I should have learned my lesson by now."

"What's that?" she asked just as the elevator dinged when it reached the requested floor.

"That we should find places to kiss where we won't be interrupted."

She chuckled, self-consciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "You're right. We probably should have that figured out by now."

"I'll run you home," he offered.

They got in his SUV, both emotionally and physically exhausted from recent events, and she watched him as he buckled his seatbelt and started the car. He turned when he felt her eyes on him and asked, "What?"

She responded wordlessly, leaning across the center console and kissing him passionately but only for a minute before she said, "Thank you…thank you for trying to understand. For being so…great."

"Thank you, Jane," he said with plunging sincerity, the millions of things he was thanking her for left unsaid but understood.

"We should probably go. This seems like another situation where we might be interrupted."

"Yea," he nodded. Popping his vehicle into gear, he added, "Let's go."

* * *

He wondered why the safehouse looked lonelier from the outside now that Roman was gone. It didn't make sense, but the place didn't have the warmer feeling it had begun to have since the Roman started staying with her. Weller followed her to the door, and although she hadn't verbally invited him, he seemed to be welcome.

He stood in the doorway, surveilling the damage as he watched her hurriedly try to straighten a mess that wouldn't be so easily eradicated. "Do you have anything to drink?" he asked.

"Oh, yea, sorry," she said as she shoved the bloodied towels she'd left behind earlier into the trash.

"You know, you can clean this up tomorrow. I'll come over. Give you a hand."

She poured them both bourbons, since it was all that she had that seemed strong enough, and handed him one before she tossed back her own drink. "This isn't your mess to clean up," she said. "I think this is what they mean by 'making your bed and lying in it'. Don't worry about it."

For some reason he felt compelled to make a slightly inappropriate comment about helping her with her bed, but refrained at the last moment. "You'd help me if the situations were reversed," he noted, sipping his drink.

She stretched and he found his eyes skating over her shape and thought it probably wasn't the best time to be thinking the thoughts that he was thinking. "I better go," he said, clearing his throat.

"Oh!" she said, stunned by the sudden suggestion of his departure. "Now?"

"Yea," he said with certainty. Leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek, he whispered, "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

As much as his sudden exit had surprised her, she was too tired to give it much thought, or to clean up. She collapsed on her bed, still dressed and without ever pulling down the covers to slip under the sheets.

She woke hours later, feeling somewhat annoyed by the layer of dirt, sweat and blood that still coated her. She sighed at the fact that waking in such a state wasn't all that abnormal for her. She stood in the shower for as long as she could, letting the hot water beat down on her body and wash away the grime of the night before.

Only a moment after she pulled on her workout pants and tank top, she heard a tapping at her door. The sound was distinctive, not the sound of a fist or open hand, but the sound of someone hitting an object against the door. When she peered through the peephole, she saw Kurt standing outside even though the sun was barely up.

She opened the door to face his grin and he immediately handed her a paper bag and cup carrier with two tall cups of coffee before he propped a step ladder against the wall inside her door. "Morning!" he enthusiastically said before he lifted a finger to tell her to wait a minute and ran back down to his SUV. Occasionally glancing back at her to make sure she was still there, he grabbed a tool box, and a few nested buckets before he jogged up her stairs.

"Morning," she finally replied as she watched him sneak past her and put his things down in the living room. "You weren't kidding about giving me a hand, huh?"

"I never kid," he said, standing tall and speaking in his most somber FBI-approved tone. Then he smirked as she locked the door and placed the things he'd handed her on the counter. "First, fuel," he directed, opening the paper bag and offering her first pick of a variety of breakfast treats. He popped the top off of the coffees and fanned them as if he could sufficiently cool them with the gesture.

He took a big bite of a pastry before opening his tool box and shoving a couple of screwdrivers in the back pocket of his jeans. Setting up the ladder in front of the window, he quickly climbed it and used the screwdrivers to reattach the blind. As he worked, he mused, "You know, there is one thing about this that kinda puts a smile on my face."

"What's that?" Jane wondered.

"If this was the way you and your brother fought when you were kids…Shepherd must've had her hands full with you two. I kinda like that you probably drove her crazy." After a second, he turned toward her and asked, "You okay? You're quiet."

She nodded slowly, "You're really intense before 8AM."

He chuckled, hopping down off the ladder. "Maybe I like fixing things," he suggested half-heartedly.

"Maybe."

"Or _maybe_ …" he said pensively, walking slowly closer, "I'm glad I'm here because I wanted to see you."

She nodded, a little smirk playing at her lips, "You did?"

"It's possible. I also thought…maybe…this was a place where I could kiss you without being disturbed."

"Pretty presumptuous of you, Assistant Director Weller."

"Which part? The part about kissing you or the part about not being disturbed?"

She quickly stepped forward, placing one hand on his shoulder while the other still grasped her coffee, and she placed a fleeting kiss against his lips before she backed away. "The part about being disturbed, obviously," she playfully countered.

He nodded, taking her cup from her hand and putting it on the counter. Stepping even closer to her, he planted his feet on either side of hers so their bodies were very nearly touching. He placed both hands on her waist, sliding them down to her hips before he encircled her back. "Better not waste time then," he replied, before he reinitiated the kiss.

It was different from all of their previous kisses, hungrier, deeper, and far more passionate. His tongue entwined with hers, full of a tenderness that somehow wasn't destroyed by the underlying desire. He couldn't seem to figure out what to do with his hands, as if he wanted to touch her everywhere at once and couldn't settle on one particular location. At one moment he was cradling the back of her neck, the next her upper back, lower back, sides and arms. She was getting swallowed up in this torrential expression, her own hands grasping at him with as much indecision.

She didn't realize he had lifted her from the ground in his arms until he carefully made sure she had her footing. As he put an inch or two of space between them, she felt so much colder. His forehead pressed to hers, he seemed quite stunned at the intensity of their connection, and she found it endearing. She whispered, "I guess that's what it's like, kissing you when we aren't disturbed."

"Guess so."

"I definitely like that better."

"Me too," he smirked, tilting his mouth toward hers again.

She nearly screamed when she heard a loud knocking at her door. "You have got to be kidding me."

"We're going to have to find a cave high in the mountains or something so we can get a minute alone. Who would be here this early?" he questioned. She raised her eyebrow and stared at him, waiting for him to understand. "Right," he admitted, "I was here this early. Actually, earlier. Point taken."

The knocking intensified and they heard Zapata yell, "Jane? Is everything okay?"

"I'd say 'ignore it,'" Weller suggested, "but I think we both know she'll bust down the door if she thinks you're in trouble."

Jane chuckled as she walked to the door, opening it to find not only Zapata, but Patterson and Reade as well, all dressed in casual clothes. "What are you all doing here?" Jane asked.

"Kurt said he was going to come over this morning to help you clean up after everything that happened last night. We wanted to help," Zapata answered.

"We're family," Patterson added, obviously studying Jane to see how she was holding up after the fight with Roman. "We take care of each other."

Jane stepped back and they all came inside, chatting and failing to notice the shy, amused yet mildly frustrated looks Jane and Kurt shared across the room.

"Right. Let's get this done," Kurt announced loudly.


	2. Chapter 2: Tin Edge of Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N-This was designed as a 2-shot, but I haven't marked it complete yet. I had an idea for a final chapter/epilogue to tie things up, but I'm not sure if I want to do that or wait until I see the finale (speaking of the finale, is anyone else worried that Kurt and/or Jane will be abducted by aliens or crashed in on by a SWAT team before they can seal the deal?)
> 
> As always, thanks so much for your feedback, I truly love this fandom! The chapter title is a little nod to the weekly puzzle titles on the show.
> 
> Anyway, thanks to my "advisor" for some insights and suggestions.

The entire team helped work on the safehouse, and Jane was touched by their concern. Even Reade, who was only just returning and had been so reluctant to accept her initially, worked hard and even joked around with her. This team really did care about her, even after everything that had happened. Although she was still devastated over her fight with Roman, at least she didn't feel alone when surrounded by a 'family' who accepted her.

After a few hours of work, Patterson took a sample of the paint color and ran to the store so they could touch up the wall. Jane grabbed a small bucket of patching compound to try to repair a particularly large gash, but found the process far more difficult than she'd imagined. She looked over at some spots that Kurt had already patched, and they were smooth and neat, but she was annoyed by her lack of ability to complete the task even though she never remembered doing anything like that before. "Want some help?" Kurt asked, stepping up behind her and putting his hand on her back.

"Why is this so much harder than it looks?" she asked, scowling at the compound.

He chuckled and looked over her shoulder, so close that she realized she probably would have kissed him if Reade and Zapata weren't standing in the same room. "It's not your fault. That's a much bigger chunk of drywall to patch," he explained.

Her breath was already staggering a little, her pulse racing at the closeness while she wondered if they'd have a chance to be alone later. They'd been dancing around the edge of this… _whatever it was_ …for so long that it felt like they would always be hovering there in limbo.

"I'll show you," he said decisively, like maybe he was trying to break out of the same trance she was in. Gathering a few things, he returned. He reached his arms around her, taking her hands beneath his and showing her how to attach a piece of mesh to cover the damage before smearing it with the patching compound. Remaining right at her back, one hand on her hip after he gave her the putty knife, he waited as he watched her finish the task.

He complimented her progress, but she was barely able to focus, feeling his breath against her shoulder, his hand on her hip, the warmth of his body right behind her. All she could really think about was turning around, shoving Kurt onto the floor and riding him until he forgot _his_ name. The thought made her blush and tense slightly, so he back away a little, standing next to her as he probably misunderstood the motive behind her tension. "Nice job," he said, folding his arms as he critiqued her work.

"Umm, oh, damn," she said, stumbling through her words, "I have to change this bandage, but it's hard to do on my own. Kurt, could you give me a hand?"

"Sure," he answered casually, following her to the next room.

* * *

Patterson returned and found Reade and Zapata standing in the middle of the room, staring at a recently repaired bit of wall. "I got the paint!" Patterson announced, waiting for either of them to tell her why they were focused on such a mundane section of wall.

Zapata looked at Reade and said, "I had no idea home repair involved so much sexual tension."

"I guess it depends on who you're 'spackling' with," Reade answered wryly.

Patterson stared at both of them, "What are you talking about?"

"We think something's going on with Jane and Weller," Reade said.

"That's nothing new," Patterson answered matter-of-factly.

"No," Zapata clarified, "more than their usual 'something'. Face it, it always feels like we're interrupting something between them…always has. But this...is something _more. Different._ "

"I kinda figured," Patterson answered. "The other night when we were at the bar, I'm pretty sure we interrupted one of those 'something more' moments. I was surprised she shared a cab with us instead of Weller."

"Maybe we should wrap up and get out of here," Reade said.

"What, just, like, leave?" Patterson asked.

"No. We don't want it to look obvious. Finish up, maybe an hour or so and casually get out of here," he suggested.

"Tomorrow, unless something really horrible goes down, the three of us will try to keep everything under control," Patterson suggested.

"Yea," Zapata commented. "I know Weller's normally a _giant_ _ray of sunshine_ , but if he keeps getting cock blocked, he's going to get seriously cranky."

* * *

"Are you okay?" Weller asked as he followed Jane into her bathroom.

She just nodded, hopping up onto the sink in her bathroom, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, and yanking him into her arms. He groaned loudly as he felt the potential of his current position, his broad hands surrounding her thighs and pressing them against his hips. She crashed into him, kissing him with a passion he didn't remember from any other woman, and he felt the immediate powerful surge of an amalgam of needs and wants zipping straight to his groin. One hand tunneled up through her hair, the other roughly gripping her thigh in the hopes that she wouldn't pull away. He knew he could easily be lost forever between her legs, her gentle sighs in his ear, breasts cushioned against his chest, and the sweet slip of her tongue between his lips and into his mouth.

He forgot that people were waiting two rooms away until she stopped, her fingers dancing up his neck and making his skin prickle. "Stay?" she whispered, sounding both confident and prepared for rejection.

"Anywhere, anytime," he grinned, leaning in to kiss her again.

She only allowed their lips to brush, but then she said, "The team is waiting for us."

"So you're just trying to torture me?" he joked.

"I just want to make sure that when they leave…you'll stay here…with me."

"God, yes," he groaned.

"We better get back out there."

"Just two more minutes," he flirted.

She grinned, nodding as she closed the scant distance between them.

* * *

The thing that had surprised her most about their recent near kiss when they went to the bar with Zapata and Patterson wasn't the kiss itself…after all, they'd been getting closer, and being around Weller had been making her stomach flip excitedly for a while now. No, the surprising thing had been how unconcerned he had been that Zapata or Patterson might see. Had they not announced themselves, the ladies might have walked in on an _actual_ kiss, and if that kiss had actually taken place, Jane doubted it would have been perceived as innocent.

"You tired?" Reade asked, noting her distractedness as she peered out the window to see if their lunch delivery was imminent.

"Not really," she answered, looking at him with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I will be."

"The team…we really miss you. We need you."

"Thanks," Reade answered quietly, seeming relieved when the doorbell rang.

Zapata produced a few bottles of booze as Weller paid the deliveryman, and she said, "We should probably celebrate all we got done so far."

Everyone was laughing as they stood around the kitchen island, eating and drinking even though it was the middle of the day. Kurt stood by Jane, putting his arm around her a few times, once again largely unconcerned with the possibility that the rest of the team might see or assign meaning to his behavior. He held her gaze just like he did when they were alone, staring deeply into her eyes and doing nothing to hide it from everyone else.

As much as she appreciated everyone's help, Jane was eager to finally be alone with Kurt. Maybe, just maybe, for once, they could pick up where they'd left off.

After everyone else left, Jane sort of expected to have Weller's immediate, undivided attention, but for some reason he continued with his work. As Jane took dirty cups to the dishwasher and tossed empty food containers into the recycling bin, she watched as he continued to wipe up a piece of floor that they had repaired earlier. "Good as new," he said, admiring the handiwork.

Jane cleared her throat and said, "Thank you for helping me today."

He stopped working, still kneeling on the floor nearby, and smiled for a moment. He nodded his head and answered, "Any time, Jane."

The look he gave was so undeniably full of adoration that it made her look away awkwardly before she met his gaze again, dropping her eyes a few times. "You know…I think I found another one of my favorite things about you," he mentioned.

"What's that?"

"You are one of the toughest operatives I've ever met, if not _the_ toughest. You can take out a row of trained soldiers twice your size, disarm a bomb and barely blink an eye, you don't cower under gunfire and you've endured stuff that most people couldn't even handle hearing about…"

"That's one of your favorite things about me?" she skeptically questioned.

"No. I didn't get to that part yet. The thing I like…is that you're all those things…strong, tenacious, smart, hell you're pretty damn close to fearless…and that's all that most people see. But you let me see other things…the whole you. The way you blush and act awkward when I compliment you. The way you feel so much empathy that you actually seem to share other people's pain. The way that you're shy about kissing me. The way that you seem to not only understand me…but actually _feel_ what I'm feeling. After everything that's happened, you don't hide that side from me. That vulnerability that sits beneath the surface of the toughest woman I've ever known."

"So deep down what a man wants is a woman who's weak?" she teased, side-stepping the gravity of his statement.

"Not at all," he said. "This isn't some sexist guy thing…your willingness to accept your vulnerability…it actually makes you seem stronger. You're not afraid of it. And that's helped me not be afraid of it, to accept my own vulnerability. I think, maybe, that's why you were able to get behind my walls…because I saw just how strong you are without them."

Her lips were slightly parted as she thought, her eyes darting while she searched for any possible answer to what was almost definitely the most incredible thing anyone had ever said to her (at least that she could remember). "Kurt…" she began, finding that no other words flowed naturally after that word.

"Yes, Jane?" he waited, still kneeling on the floor in front of her.

He had flecks of paint in his hair from their work and somehow looked more handsome and strong kneeling in front of her on the floor in old, worn clothes than he did wearing a tailored suit as he occupied the office of an Assistant Director of the FBI. She had always felt that he had a huge presence, but it was amazing that even in that position, he seemed to tower like an oak tree in a field of grass. Perhaps that was part of what drew them together, two outwardly strong fortresses that protected hearts that were caring, empathetic and wounded perhaps beyond repair. But yet those wounded hearts were soothed by each other when nothing else seemed to offer consolation.

She stepped closer, feeling drawn to him physically with the force of the same undeniable attraction that had drawn her to him emotionally from the start. He remained still and silent though, patiently awaiting her response. She wasn't even sure what words _could_ follow. There were only three words that came to mind, and she wasn't sure if she was prepared to say them, or if he was ready to hear them. One thing was clear: she needed to be near him. Without interruptions, hesitations or complications, she wanted to be with him and feel him with her.

When she was finally directly in front of him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and with great deliberation kept her eyes on his. She needed him to feel her certainty, and he just kept staring back, unwavering, the slightest gentle smile reassuring her that he wasn't going anywhere.

Leaning down, she held his face in her hands, and kissed him. It was becoming a habit. She didn't waste time with anything tentative or cautious. It felt like she'd been waiting for this moment since the day they'd met. He tightened his arms around her, pulling her against him, their bodies tightly pressed, but she was still above him, so he tilted his head up to meet her.

Suddenly she pulled back, almost as if she felt surprised. His eyes looked worried, like maybe he feared she was about to flee. "You okay?" he whispered, that booming, authoritative voice that he usually spoke in softened to the gentle voice he sometimes used when they were alone.

She bobbed her head and barely spoke, "I'm very okay. Better than okay. I just…can't believe this."

He obviously tried not to grin, but couldn't stop, and for a few moments they just smiled at each other like fools, fueling each other's joy. She watched him swallow, suddenly appearing to be lost in serious thought. His eyes still cast up toward her, he touched the lower hem of her shirt and pulled it up just a little, exposing the slightest amount of decorated skin and waiting for her reaction. She didn't flinch or pull away, instead grabbing her shirt and yanking it over her head before she tossed it away, and she giggled when he seemed pleased by her decisive action. Like a switch had been thrown, his caution evaporated, replaced by unrestrained pursuit.

His eyes grew more certain and impatient, and he unbuttoned her pants and kissed the spot exposed once the button was opened. He pulled the zipper down, parting the sides of her pants before he slid his hands over her hips beneath the fabric, dragging his tongue over the dip next to her hip as her hand moved to the back of his head in invitation.

Her skin felt impossibly warm and her head swam. As much as she wanted to continue the sensation forever, part of her was dying for him to finally reach between her legs, to begin to satisfy the screaming need that threatened to consume her. She somewhat forcefully grabbed the tops of his shoulders, digging her fingers in as she closed her eyes and surrendered to the moment.

When his mouth lingered over her sex, still covered by her panties, she felt the heat of his breath and the damp press of his tongue as he offered an intimate kiss. Her knees grew weak, so he steadied her. His arms cradled her, lowering her carefully to the floor. As he moved his hands out from under her, he took her panties and pants with one tug before he encouraged her legs around his hips. He leaned over her, his hands bracing his weight on the floor around her while he lowered his body over top of hers, the lengths of them finally aligned.

* * *

Weller felt indecisive, like a man surrounded by a sea of gifts who wasn't sure which one to play with first. He tried to decide if he wanted to worship her body, slowly driving her crazy, or rip off every scrap of clothing and just fuck her into oblivion. Every touch, each time she gasped or moaned or moved, he just wanted to make her do it again, to keep feeling this way, but at the same time, his body ached with the need to have her, to sate the desire he had for her that no one or nothing else had been capable of satisfying. For a year he'd tried to find anything else to fill the void she'd left, but nothing even came close.

He felt a strange frustration at the fact that her bra was still on, cruelly separating them, and as he started yanking it off, he felt her hands fumble alongside his to help. She pulled off his shirt and wrapped her arms around him, her breasts smashing against his chest. Her legs wound around him and she lifted her pelvis up, pressing against the front of his pants so firmly that he smacked the floor with his palm as he fought the almost undeniable urge to be inside her.

Just as that thought emerged in his head, she opened his pants and forcefully pushed her hands behind the fabric. He felt those fingers wrap around him, the fingers he'd watched and held in a hundred different contexts, finally curling around his length. He rolled on his back, pulling her along. Her knees were beside his hips, his pants splayed open but still on him, he looked down and watched her hand as she stroked him and it scrambled his brain. The fingers of her free hand brushed the skin on his lower abdomen, making his stomach shudder. Her touch was somehow worlds greater than he could have even imagined. But then everything about her had always seemed superior, more beautiful, more alluring, more amazing…his mind refused to be convinced otherwise.

When her second hand joined the first, wrapping around his manhood more tightly, he stilled entirely, watching for a moment, his jaw slack and brain numb. Enjoying that touch for as long as he safely could, he finally stopped her, taking her hands in his, bringing them to his chest. Her soaking sex touched his straining erection, offering just the slightest friction as she leaned down to kiss him. He tried to kick off his pants, and they both stopped and chuckled, foreheads pressed together after his foot kicked a mop bucket and water sloshed across the floor. "I can't wait to feel you inside me," she whispered, gently brushing her lips over his.

"I can't wait to be inside you," he growled, his hands cupping her breasts just to feel them in his palms, her hands covering his in encouragement.

"I've wondered…what it would be like," she confessed, her inhibitions numbed somewhat by her libido.

"Me too. You have no idea," he replied, more devotedly exploring her body.

"On the pill," she moaned when one of his hands slipped between her legs and slid through her silky slickness, seeking her warmth as he pushed one thick finger into her body.

"Oh," he said, surprised for some reason by the disclosure. He silently acknowledged the twinge of jealousy he felt at the thought that she'd probably gotten on the pill for another man, and the thought of her with another man hurt deeply even through the brain fog that usually accompanied such an aroused state.

"Is that okay? I've been tested, no problems…but I can get a condom if you want?" she asked, momentarily pausing.

Jealousy lingered until he reminded himself that the past didn't matter because she was finally with him, in his arms now. That was what really mattered. And he would do almost anything in his power to keep her there. "Uh, no. I don't want one," he shook his head, remembering her question. "You're safe with me."

"I know I am," she answered, and then his heart thumped at the way she made him feel, the last vestiges of jealousy evaporating and soon forgotten as he felt her choosing him.

He stood, offering her a hand and helping her to her feet. He wrapped his arms back around her again, as if the separation had lasted too long. Beginning to step her back toward her bedroom, she was moving blind, trusting him to make sure she didn't crash into anything on the way. Her toes barely met the floor with each stride until he picked her up and just carried her, her legs willingly encircling him just above his hips.

He dropped her on the bed, watching her eyes go wide with surprise until he climbed up her body, carefully brushing her hair back from her face with both hands as she smiled her affection at him. She began lifting her hips toward him, inviting him in no uncertain terms. She locked her leg behind his and flipped him over, moving her hand between them to guide him into her. His eyes screwed shut, his hands on her thighs as he let her move at the pace that was comfortable for her.

When he finally opened his eyes, watching her practically ended his control. "Damn, you're gorgeous," he muttered, talking even though he hadn't given his mouth permission to speak. "You know how long I've wanted you?"

She smirked, still that hint of shyness at his adoration refusing to let go entirely. "How long?"

"At this point it feels like an eternity," he chuckled, abruptly halting when she lifted away and started to move again, this time more quickly, allowing him to slip almost entirely from her until her body swallowed him up again. Damn, they fit together perfectly.

She didn't slow, finding that satisfying pace, not so fast that they rushed to the end, and not too slow that they felt the frustration of unmet desire. And on his back, he was free to touch her body, to allow his hands to explore and sense all of her. His thumb finally slipped between them, carefully circling her clit as her back arched and movements became jerky and slightly off-rhythm as she was distracted by the mounting pleasure. He _needed_ to be responsible for unraveling her until she collapsed against him.

He sat up, wanting to take over so she didn't have to do anything except let go and _feel_. His arms engulfed her body, easily lifting her weight and mastering the tempo she seemed to prefer. At the same time he moved beneath her, pushing up into her warm body and claiming her as his own. His mouth found her shoulder and the pleasure point just above her collarbone that she didn't even realize existed until he found it.

He kept the unrelenting pace, oblivious to the outside world, lost in her, lost in _them,_ forgetting everything that had happened in the past or what might happen in the future as he surrendered all to Jane. 'My Jane', his inner voice repeated like a grateful mantra. She started to come, her hands grasping at him, holding onto him with all of her power, her already tight sheath clamping down on him and nearly trapping him inside her. She moaned so loudly, with such intense pleasure, that she nearly screamed. He didn't hear her say his name, though. He needed to know he was on her mind, consuming her thoughts like she was consuming his. Just then, as if she knew what he needed, she sighed, "Kurt," into his ear. His name had never been sung so beautifully.

Her fingers traced his spine as she rocked in his lap, her lips against his neck. He felt dampness on his shoulder, initially assuming it was the sweat that covered most of his body, but when she lifted her head to let him know she was ready to continue, it nearly broke his heart. A tear skated down her face and he asked, "What's wrong, Jane?"

"Nothing," she said with sated flirtation.

His thumb brushed the tear and she realized why he'd asked. He gently stroked her back to try to reassure her. "I love you, Jane," he said somberly. "I—I _never_ want to hurt you. I didn't—"

"I'm not crying," she interrupted with a reassuring smile. "Well, I mean, at least not because I'm sad. That was really amazing."

"Oh," he said, relieved for a moment and then realizing that he'd needlessly confessed something so immense to her.

He definitely didn't want to talk about it, not when he was completely buried in the woman he'd wanted more than he'd ever wanted anything. He lifted and dropped her on the bed, never breaking their connection. He tested her with a few shallow sways of his hips, and when she responded favorably he started to pick up the pace, moving more eagerly, feeling his own tensions rise as she started to gasp in pleasure again. She countered his moves, completely responsive and receptive and the absolute epitome of sexiness in his world. His disclosure was soon forgotten as the relative patience his body had exhibited was wearing thin. As he surrendered to indulgence, he was aware of the feelings not only of pleasure, but of loving this, absolutely adoring the feeling of them together.

He would have smirked proudly at the way he made her come again with him if she hadn't completely decimated his control and robbed him of both the capacity to think or move.

* * *

He held her close, their bodies so entwined they were almost difficult to differentiate in the dim room. She listened to his breath gradually slow from a completely breathless pant to a more normal, even rhythm. She draped her leg over his body, resting her cheek against his chest, and she chuckled at the fact that she was in her bed for two nights in a row without ever getting under the covers.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

She lifted her head and he worried when he saw her eyes were teary again, so she affirmed, "I'm not upset. That was really incredible. I just think the tears were a reaction…to something really intense. Believe me, I'm definitely not sad."

"Really intense, huh?" he grinned. "So are you going to cry every time I make you come? Because I can bring a case or two of tissues…"

Teasing him back, she responded, "I guess if the sex is that good every time…it's possible. But we'll have to look into it and see…do some recon."

"Recon?" he chuckled.

"Yea. If you're willing to help me have lots and lots and lots of orgasms, we'll collect the data, run it through some sort of algorithm on Patterson's computer when she's not looking, and figure it all out."

She could hear the rumble of his laughter as her ear pressed to his chest and then she looked up to see his face. He'd never looked so happy, and it warmed her so thoroughly that she felt flushed and dizzy. She stretched her hand over his heart and balanced her chin on the back of that hand as she stared at him. "I love you, too, you know," she said, her eyes darting away for a moment when he looked at her, but she made herself look back. "I'm not sure if you meant what you said earlier, but–"

"Of course I meant it," he interrupted, slinging his arm over her back, his fingers draping softly on her side. "I could have found a better time to tell you…"

"As long as you meant it…that's what matters to me."

"I meant it. I don't say those words lightly, never have. And I've felt like that for a long time. Longer than I probably want to admit. I've made mistakes, been afraid of the way I feel…but there is no one in this world I'd rather be with. No one who has ever meant more to me."


End file.
